


i chew, chew, chew 'cause they hope i choke

by valiantlybold



Series: wolf in lark's clothing [9]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Angst, Blow Jobs, Cock Cages, Come Eating, Cunnilingus, Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Doppler!Jaskier, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Jaskier, Genderfluid Jaskier, Kept Boys, Light Angst, M/M, Mob Boss Jaskier, Oral Sex, Polyamorous relationship, Polyamory, Semi-Public Sex, Supernatural Elements, Vaginal Sex, Vampires, Werewolves, healthy loving relationship, kept boy eskel, kept boy geralt, kept boy lambert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24458398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valiantlybold/pseuds/valiantlybold
Summary: To celebrate the peace treaty being forged between the coven and the pack, a feast is being held.Of course, things never go as smoothly as you wish they would...
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert
Series: wolf in lark's clothing [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1640455
Comments: 23
Kudos: 295





	i chew, chew, chew 'cause they hope i choke

**Author's Note:**

> in this lovely little thing, our darling doppler jaskier wears the face of a woman, and the woman i chose for him to wear is named [Achenrin Madit,](https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Ftse4.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DOIP.3uiNC1McjI0l-lhPmlsIEQHaFj%26pid%3DApi&f=1) whom i chose simply because she is absolutely stunning and i think im a little in love with her
> 
> title from Boss Bitch, by Doja Cat

Geralt is _annoyed._

He does _not_ like wearing a suit and now he’s being forced to wear one.

Well, forced and forced, _not really._ If he says he’d prefer to stay home, Jaskier would probably be sad, yes, but he wouldn’t stop Geralt. He wouldn’t force Geralt to go if Geralt said he didn’t want to.

But Geralt is in a predicament. He doesn’t want to go to some fancy banquet-party-thingy, nor does he want to miss out on the reward Jaskier promises to all good boys who play nice during the evenings festivities.

He offers a compromise to Jaskier. Geralt will wear a suit, but he doesn’t want to wear a tie and he can wear his boots instead of those uncomfortable dress shoes. Jaskier agrees, though on one condition.

So here Geralt is, slipping on his cock cage and throwing a nasty look at the suit he chose for the evening.

Once he’s dressed and ready, he leaves his room and joins the others. The guys wait in the bedroom, both dressed in suits, while Geralt can hear Jaskier move around in the walk-in closet. Eskel and Lambert seem much less bothered by being shoved into suits and ties and uncomfortable shoes. Maybe they’re just used to it.

Geralt sits on the foot of the bed.

Thankfully, it isn’t long before Jaskier is finished.

He leaves the closet, and as he does, Geralt sees he is wearing a different face. It’s a woman, tall and thin, with dark, dark skin and deep eyes. Her, his, hair is cropped down short, almost to the scalp.

He wears a long black dress, which has a slit up along the left side, exposing a slender leg. His boots are tall and black, something golden glinting at the heel. The dress has gilded details as well, though they are hard to see when his red blazer is buttoned. A purse hangs over his right shoulder in a golden chain; the purse is shaped like a pill capsule, in black and red, with some sort of writing on one side, though Geralt can’t quite make it out.

Jaskier’s face shimmers with make-up, more black and more gold and more red; black around his eyes, gold glittering on his cheeks, red on his lips.

He’s fucking beautiful.

“He, she, or they?” Lambert asks, even as his eyes rove over Jaskier’s new body.

Jaskier smiles. His hip cocks, one hand resting there. “I think I’ll go with _she,_ to match the face.”

The boys get out of their seats.

“Shall we?” Eskel says, offering his arm to Jaskier.

“Yes, we shall,” the doppler agrees as _she_ takes Eskel’s offered arm.

*

They are likely the last to arrive.

The party is hosted in a large, luxurious ballroom, at a hotel downtown. The place is flooded with people dressed to the nines.

At one end of the ballroom, there is a live band playing for the dance-floor, where many couples currently move elegantly around each other in a waltz. At the other end, two long tables are set up near either wall, lengthwise, and in the space between them, smaller round tables are scattered around. By the far wall, a much smaller rectangular table is placed, with places set for five people.

The four of them move together. Lambert and Geralt walk at either Jaskier’s sides, while Eskel follows a step behind.

“Eskel, fetch me a drink.”

The vampire scurries to obey.

“Lambert, inform Calanthe and Vesemir that I’ve arrived.”

The werewolf disappears into the crowd as well.

“Geralt, find you and the boys’ seats.”

Geralt moves towards the tables.

He searches swiftly and efficiently, and is unsettled by what he finds. Eskel is seated at one of the long tables, and Lambert at the other, while Geralt himself has been placed at one of the small tables in the middle. He had hoped he would at least have the guys to talk to during dinner. Geralt isn’t exactly interested in mindless small-talk, nor does he know anyone else in attendance. Fuck… He’s going to demand _such_ a good reward for all this shit, once they get home. He’ll deserve a hell of a lot of rewards, if he manages to not bash his own head in against the table.

Geralt joins up with the guys near the bar, where they all get some drinks, then follows them to Jaskier.

When they find her, the doppler is engrossed in a conversation with a black-haired woman in an elaborate evening gown, which sparkles with stones.

“Boys,” she says as she notices them. “Come! Some of you already know my dear friend Yennefer, but Geralt, I don’t think you’ve met her quite yet.”

While Eskel offers a glass of wine to Jaskier, Geralt steps forward and offers his hand to the other woman, Yennefer.

“Pleased to meet you,” he mutters.

Yennefer shakes his hand. By how cold she is to the touch, he can only assume she is a vampire. Her smile is small, but vicious, and her eyes shine violet.

“I did hear you added another boy-toy to your collection,” Yennefer says, obviously talking to Jaskier. “Won’t you save a few for the rest of us?”

Jaskier clucks her tongue at the other woman. “Oh, _please,_ like you _don’t_ have a whole harem of your own!” she says.

Yennefer hums. “That’s neither here nor there, dear. I’ve got quantity, you’ve got quality.”

Jaskier sips her wine. “How do you mean?”

“If I want obedience, I go to one man. If I want brattiness, I go to another man. If I want intelligent conversation, I go to a third man. If I want someone who’d kill and die for me, I go to a fourth man,” Yennefer explains. “But your boys? Complete packages! And they follow you around like you hung the moon. If you asked, I’m sure they’d kiss the ground you walk on!”

Jaskier sips again. She hums. “Well, you’re not _wrong,"_ she says.

_“Ladies!”_

The women look up and smile as an older gentle man joins their little circle.

“Stregobor!” Yennefer says. “Always a pleasure.”

They both lean in, trade kisses on either cheek, and Jaskier does the same.

“Stregobor, I had no idea you’d be here tonight,” Jaskier says then. “What a pleasant surprise!”

The man smiles, raising his glass to her. “I assure you, Dandilion, the pleasure is all mine. And if I may, the face of the evening is quite a beautiful sight to behold.”

She clinks her wineglass to his. “Many thanks, old friend. Please, allow me to introduce you,” she says, gesturing to Geralt. “My newest lover Geralt, a human. Geralt, this is Stregobor, a very talented old mage, whom I consider a dear friend.”

Geralt is polite and offers his hand. “Pleasure to meet you.”

The mage grins, eyeing Geralt up and down while taking his hand. _“A human!_ Another thing I never expected to see!” he says. “First a peace treaty between the coven and the pack, and on top of that, a human at the celebration of said treaty! Dandilion, you never cease to amaze.”

Jaskier lets out a melodic laughter, waving him off bashfully. “Not at all, I’m only doing my part to keep our world safe,” she insists. “And as for Geralt, well, I hardly think a silly little thing as species should stand in the way of love.”

“And cheers to that!” Stregobor chimes in, raising his glass again.

Both the women laugh, glasses clinking.

The evening proceeds much like so, and Geralt is none too pleased.

He had hoped to be able to avoid all the polite small talk and introductions and hand-shaking, but when does he ever get his way? Word gets around fast that there is a human among them, especially one attached to the esteemed Dandilion, so now it appears that _everyone_ wants a chance to meet him. It’s like they’ve never seen a damn human before!

By the time they’re called to find their seats, Geralt is already regretting ever coming along to this thing. Even more so when he finds himself to be seated with a group of tittering young nymphs who can’t stop gawking at him and whispering in hushed tones to each other. Thankfully, he hears enough to understand that they’re speaking a different language, so at least he can tune them out rather easily.

Looking around, Geralt spots his group scattered around the room. Eskel sits next to Yennefer at one of the long tables, surrounded by a myriad of vampires Geralt’s been introduced to during the mingling. On the opposite side, Lambert sits with the werewolves, among them being the betas Keira, Leo, and Berengar.

At the head of the room, though, at the smallest table, Jaskier sits in the middle. To her left is Calanthe, and beside the queen is Eist. On Jaskier’s right, is Vesemir, followed by Letho.

Geralt keeps an eye on them. He has no illusions about how much Calanthe dislikes Jaskier, nor about how far Vesemir will go to protect his pack. With Jaskier trapped between them... Suffice it to say, _Geralt keeps an eye on them._

Jaskier catches him looking. She licks her blood-red lips. A shock of electricity races down Geralt’s spine. When he glances at Eskel and Lambert, they both just grin at him, as though they know exactly what Jaskier is thinking. Another wave of lightning zips through Geralt’s body.

There are speeches. First by Calanthe, then by Vesemir, both singing the other praises and celebrating the new peace treaty. Jaskier speaks last, thanking everyone in attendance for their dedication to keeping the peace.

The mage, Stregobor, comes to the table. He carries a scroll of parchment. One by one, the three sign the parchment.

When the final signature is done, the room breaks into applauds.

*

Geralt had hoped they would be going home after the meal, but as always, Jaskier loves to torture him.

While Eskel and Lambert are let off the leash, Geralt remains glued to Jaskier’s side. He hates to mingle and Jaskier knows it. He’s introduced to even more people and forced to act as some sort of spokesperson for all of humanity, which he really was not ready for.

Then, to make it worse, Jaskier drags his onto the dance floor. They waltz through a few songs and Geralt is really trying his hardest not to step on Jaskier’s toes.

Shortly, Jaskier decides they have danced enough for the moment, leading Geralt into the crowd again. Somehow, unbeknownst to Geralt, she calls all her boys to her. Eskel and Lambert appear before them in only a handful of moments.

Jaskier leads the way. Geralt breathes easier once they’re out of the ballroom.

They move away from the party, down a quiet hallway. There are two doors there, bathrooms labeled by sex. Jaskier goes into the ladies room and leaves the boys waiting. After a moment, she comes back, though, waving Eskel and Geralt inside while putting Lambert to guard the door.

The restroom is as luxurious as the rest of the hotel. Marble floors and huge mirrors, and for some reason, a plush settee and a side-table piled high with all the latest gossip magazines.

Jaskier shrugs off her purse, setting it on the counter by the mirrors as she passes. The red blazer falls from her shoulders. Eskel flickers across the room and catches it before it hits the floor. He folds it gently, reverently.

Like a goddess, Jaskier crosses the room, heels almost echoing against the marble, then sits herself on the settee.

“Geralt,” she says, snapping her fingers. “Here, boy.”

Geralt joins her swiftly. He falls on his knees on the floor beside her and rests his head on her thigh.

She smiles, white teeth glinting through parted red lips, as she pets him like a dog.

She snaps her fingers again. Eskel is there in a flash, kneeling in front of her. She spreads her legs, the slit in her black dress makes it easy, and reveals that she wears nothing underneath.

Geralt’s mouth waters.

She lifts her right leg. She hooks her knee over Eskel’s shoulder and pulls him in. He doesn’t hesitate. He buries his face between her thighs and Geralt stares, aching in his cage.

Her fingers card through Eskel’s hair as she moans. “That’s my boy…”

He wastes no time. He slings her other leg over his shoulder too, spreading her open, and dives in to serve her.

Jaskier moans, her hand clenching a fistful of Geralt’s hair. Geralt doesn’t know what to do; should he look her in the eye, should he beg for permission to please, should he sit quietly and watch and be tortured over the fact that Eskel is where he wants to be.

“Do you see, Geralt?” she says, then, breathy with pleasure. “Look what good boys get to do. Don’t you wish you hadn’t kicked up a fuss about coming?”

_Geralt regrets everything._

If he just hadn’t whined about suits and ties and uncomfortable shoes, _that would be him._ That would be him serving and pleasuring like a good boy.

Jaskier hums. She pushes Eskel’s head away; he pulls away, licking the slick from his lips.

“Behave yourself and maybe I’ll let you clean up Eskel’s mess.”

The vampire stands up on his knees. With quick, practiced motions, he undoes his belt and his slacks and frees his cock. Geralt, eager to serve however he can, takes Jaskier’s long leg in his hand and holds it back, rests it on his shoulder, holds her open, presses kisses up along her boot to her thigh, and watches in awe as Eskel sinks into her.

Her breath hitches. She wraps her hand in Eskel’s tie like it’s a leash and tugs him closer.

“You know how I want it, love.”

Eskel grunts and sets his pace.

They’ll be missed at the party sooner rather than later, so he doesn’t mess around. He finds a fast, hard rhythm, fucking her into the cushions, the frame clattering against the wall now and then. Geralt watches, transfixed, the milky slick leak around Eskel’s cock, dripping in pale rivulets along her black skin until they soak into the settee.

Geralt dares to sneak his hand closer, inching up her thigh as Eskel ruts into her. She doesn’t stop him, so he keeps going. Her head falls back with a deep moan when he finds her clit, his finger skimming over it. Eskel moans too, staring down between them at where Geralt touches. He spreads her open for him. He mouths at her bare thigh, reminding her how he worships her. He caresses her clit gently, not too rough, he treats her like a precious treasure even as Eskel’s thrusts get harder, deeper, wilder.

 _“Yes!”_ she cries out, clutching at Geralt’s hair again. “Yes, yes, yes!”

He keeps his touch soft and gentle still, though hurries his pace, circling the pads of his middle and ring finger over her most sensitive place. He grabs at Eskel’s thigh, squeezing the thick muscle there; the man groans, his body stuttering before finding his rhythm again. Geralt rucks up Eskel’s shirt, mouth moving there, laving wet, sloppy kisses across his abdomen, not caring how awkward it’s made by Eskel’s continued moving.

Eskel groans, stuttering again, shaking to a halt, and Geralt _knows_ what that means, Eskel cums into Jaskier’s cunt, and the woman cums with him, quivering with the power of it; Geralt works them both through it. He works his fingers over Jaskier’s clit, making her almost jump out of her skin with every shock of pleasure, and with his arm around Eskel, he pushes the man to keep rutting slowly, jerkily, and kissing down his belly.

Jaskier pushes them both away after a moment, though, panting for breath. “Geralt, won’t you clean up Eskel for me?” she says. “Can’t have him going back to the party looking a mess.”

Geralt grabs at Eskel, gets hold of his clothes, tugs on them, pulls him, moves him, turn him to face the human, and migrates his mouth downwards. Eskel moans over him as Geralt’s lip wrap around his cock. Geralt’s stomach does back-flips at the barrage of tastes; salty, bitter cum, tangy slick from Jaskier, sweat and skin, the smell of Eskel and Jaskier mixing in his nose, twisting his brain up in knots. He sucks Eskel off greedily, hungrily, and takes care not to drool; he cleans the mess and takes care of Eskel like Eskel deserves to be cared for. Above him, the vampire hisses and pants, his overstimulated body all but vibrating out of its skin. He grabs at Geralt’s hair, drags him in, makes Geralt choke and hack as his cock slips too deep and breaches into his throat.

Oh, but Geralt takes it, he loves it, he loves the feeling of Eskel spilling himself again, wrenched back over the edge once more by Geralt’s talented mouth, cum dripping down his throat.

He removes himself shortly, thankfully, and allows Geralt to breathe. Jaskier coos and hums and pets Geralt like a dog again while he coughs and struggles to swallow down the sticky cum clogging up his throat.

“Beautiful,” she says. “So beautiful, cleaned him up all nice and tidy, didn’t you, Geralt? What a good boy you are.”

Geralt gasps for air, watery eyes looking up at Jaskier. _Please let this be enough, please let him clean up more of Eskel’s mess, Jaskier is still messy, she needs to be cleaned up too, Geralt wants to help._

God, Jaskier can read his mind.

Taking him by the hair, she drags him in between her thighs.

“Go on, love,” she goads. “Go on, clean up after Eskel.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. He lets himself be drawn in and meets her with an open mouth, laying kisses down her leaking slit. Milky fluid dribbles from within her, a mix of her and Eskel; together, they taste perfect.

His hands travel up from her thighs, over lithe hips, and up a toned belly. Even more slender than usual, Jaskier’s ribs stand like mountain peaks under the black skin she’s chosen for the occasion. Her breasts are small, though pert, and they fit so perfectly into his hands. She moans as he, all at once, flicks his thumb over her nipples and his tongue over her clit. He drinks her in like a starving man and she tastes like heaven.

Jaskier sighs with pleasure. “That’s it, love,” she tells him. _“Good boy.”_

His white hair looks perfect when it’s trapped between the dark thighs of this splendid body. It runs through Jaskier’s fingers like silk ribbons. It fans out across her thighs like milk in coffee.

Her heel digs into his spine, egging him on. He burrows deeper; his tongue pushes inside her. His caged cock aches to take the place of his tongue.

She moans, body writhing, grinding against him, as if begging him to reach deeper somehow.

He worships her.

His hands move over her body, feeling every inch of her. He pulls her closer; he presses as deep as he can, lapping into her, eating up everything that she has.

She arches off the settee. Her body is a tight as a bowstring as she cums. He tastes her spilling more slick, more for him to enjoy, and he does his job, he cleans her just like he was told.

He lightens off, though, once her body begins to fall slack, when she lets out a happy sigh and sinks back against the cushions. He treats her gently, careful not to overstimulate, tapering off to soft kisses that stray down either her thighs.

“That was lovely, darling,” she hums.

She puts her foot against his chest, heel digging into him, then pushes him away. He falls back on his ass. He pants, still a little breathless.

Geralt watches her get up. She straightens out her dress, makes herself presentable. Eskel is there in a flash, already tidied up and looking good as ever, with her blazer and purse. He helps her into it and strings the purse over her shoulder. While Geralt sits on the cold floor catching his breath, Jaskier saunters over to the mirrors. She searches her purse for a moment, then reapplies her lipstick. Once she’s done, she goes for the door.

“Are you coming, Geralt?” she says. “Oh, wait, no, you’re not. But do join us back at the party whenever you feel like it.”

The door swings shut behind her and Eskel.

Hopefully, they at least leave Lambert by the door so no one comes in screaming bloody murder over Geralt being in the women’s restroom.

He isn’t sure how long he sits there catching his breath. All he knows is that he wishes to God he had something to use as lube, because then, he could at least finger himself to satisfaction. But now, as it stands, he can only sit there, horny and miserable.

Finally, he pulls himself together and gets up off the floor. He straightens out his suit, gets his hair back in order, and takes a few deep breaths.

When he can finally exit the restroom, Lambert’s giving him the smuggest grin, and Geralt kind of wants to kick him for it.

“Lemme guess,” the werewolf says. “You’re _really_ wishing you wore the shoes and the tie.”

Geralt glares at him.

“I will _beat_ you,” he says flatly.

Lambert’s grin gets wider; he giggles like an idiot.

 _“Mh,_ I love it when she’s a woman,” he adds giddily as they start making their way back to the party. “If you think she’s a menace as a man, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet!”

Geralt grits his teeth.

They join the party again, melting back into the crowd. As if reading Geralt’s mind, Lambert sticks close to his side. After... _all that,_ Geralt knows he needs someone to lean on or he will claw the eyes out of anyone who says the wrong thing.

“Geralt! Lambert!”

They both stop and turn. Lambert’s smile is effortless while Geralt’s is a little more forced.

“Stregobor, I thought an old man like you woulda been home and tucked into bed as soon as dessert was cleared up,” the werewolf jokes, slapping the man on the back.

The mage laughs at the jab, not taking any offence at all. “And I thought dogs weren’t allowed in the hotel!” he quips back and Lambert laughs too.

“So this is quite the spectacle,” Stregobor continues as the laughter dies down. “Like I said before, I never thought I’d see the day we had an official peace treaty between the pack and the coven.”

Lambert hums. He snags two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter. Geralt is more than happy to take one of them.

“Dandilion might be coarse, might be a bastard,” Lambert admits. “-but in the end, all she wants is to keep the peace and protect innocent people. Everyone here wants the same thing. It’s just taken us all some time to figure that out.”

“I’ll certainly drink to that,” Stregobor agrees.

They keep talking. The conversation very quickly strays into politics and the relations between all the species in their community. On any other day, Geralt probably would have been fascinated by it and listened intently to every word the two men said; but today, he is frustrated and annoyed and his skin itches all over and it feels like he’s an over-clocked battery, too much energy trapped in his body and it’s ready to burst out of him.

He mutters an excuse and walks away.

He ignores everything and everyone on his way to the bar. Hopefully, Jaskier won’t want to stay too much longer. Geralt can occupy himself with an endless supply of champagne and those little salted pretzels that always make him so goddamn thirsty.

The bartender asks no questions beyond _would you like a refill_ and Geralt is eternally grateful.

Geralt checks his watch. Time moves at a crawl. It feels like the world has slowed down around him just to taunt him, to test his patience.

He aches.

Jaskier has the key to his cage in her purse. He knows that if he asked her, she would gladly give it to him. He honestly considers it. Anything to get rid of all this pent up _electricity_ pinging around in his gut.

He also knows, though, that if he does ask for it, if he removes his cage, he will also effectively be denying himself the reward he has been promised. Only good boys get rewards, after all. And good boys keep their cages on until they’re given _permission_ to remove it, and not a second before. He just has to hold out a little longer.

Jaskier is a bastard, yes, but she isn’t cruel. She knows where the line is. Though she may toe it from time to time, she will never cross it. Geralt knows that and he trusts that. He trusts Jaskier.

“Geralt.”

The man sighs. _Great._

He turns around.

Vesemir has joined him at the bar, with his betas crowded around him as well.

“Vesemir,” Geralt replies.

“Enjoying the festivities?” the old man asks conversationally as the bartender pours him a whiskey.

Geralt bites back a sigh. “Let’s skip the pleasant chit-chat. I said we could _talk,_ but I never said I forgave nor forgot.”

He hears the betas all rumble with a chorus of growls, no doubt less than pleased at how rude Geralt’s being to their alpha, even as Vesemir himself lets out a sardonic chuckle.

“No. No, I suppose you’re right,” he admits. “But I doubt this is the place for us to _talk.”_

“On that, I agree,” Geralt mutters, turning back to the bar and drinking down another flute of champagne. “Highball glass, one ice cube, top it off with vodka. I’m gonna need it.”

The bartenders eyes go wide for a moment before he rushes to comply. Within a few seconds, the tall glass of vodka is placed in front of Geralt, who takes a long sip.

“I’m guessing that’s on account’a me?” Vesemir asks, smirking.

“Partly, I won’t deny,” Geralt says. The betas still growl behind Vesemir. “So are you gonna introduce me to your _lackeys?”_

The alpha chuckles, shaking his head at the comment. “Sure. Geralt, these are my betas. Letho, Keira, Berengar, and Leo,” he says. “Kids, this is Geralt.”

The human side-eyes the alpha. “And you’re not gonna specify _who_ I am?”

Vesemir bites his tongue, but shortly gives in. “Kids. Geralt is my son.”

It _amuses_ Geralt, the way the betas (save for Letho, who already knew) stare at Geralt first, then at Vesemir, then back at Geralt again. He almost fears their heads are going to explode.

“Your...son?” Keira repeats in disbelief.

“Yes,” the alpha confirms. “My son. Estranged.”

“You say _estranged,”_ Geralt hums. “I say _abandoned.”_

“Please, Geralt, let’s not argue tonight,” Vesemir pleads lowly. “Another time, we can argue all you like, but tonight is meant to be a celebration. Can we at least _pretend_ to be civil? Just for tonight.”

As much as Geralt hates it, he has to admit that Vesemir is right. This is neither the time nor the place for them to air their dirty laundry.

“I’ll see you ‘round, _dad.”_

With a _pointed_ look at the old man, Geralt grabs his drink and walks away.

He doesn’t stop until he’s back in the deserted hallway outside the ballroom.

Geralt had known running into Vesemir was a distinct possibility before agreeing to come to the party. Hell, he’d even known it was _probable_ they’d run into each other. Two hundred people crammed into one room, sooner or later you’re bound to come face to face with every single person at least once. Still, he had hoped to avoid it.

Geralt knows the truth now; he knows why their relationship is the way that it is, why Vesemir had left. And yet, knowing doesn’t make it hurt any less.

There’s baggage. Years of Geralt thinking he was a disappointment, that he wasn’t good enough, that it was his fault his father didn’t want him; years of hating the old man for making him think those things. Knowing doesn’t change that. It doesn’t take away the pain.

He hopes that one day it will be good between them. That they will have an _okay_ relationship. Vesemir _is_ his father, despite everything. Geralt _wants_ to have his father in his life, now that he _can._

It’s just…going to take time. Geralt can’t forgive or forget their history. At least not yet. One day, maybe he will work past it. Get to a better place with it.

But for now, he’s still just _so angry._

“Hey.”

Geralt looks up. He sits on the floor, hiding behind a big potted plant, out of sight of anyone who may leave the ballroom. Eskel stands over him. A vampire like him, he probably heard every word of Geralts conversation with Vesemir.

“Hey,” Geralt replies.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shrugs.

Eskel sits down beside him.

They sit quietly. Geralt sips on his vodka, Eskel drinks from a glass that looks like it’s filled with blood.

As it always is, Geralt feels better with Eskel next to him, even if Eskel doesn’t say a word. The company is perfectly sufficient on its own; there’s no talking needed.

“Do you wanna go home?” Eskel asks.

Geralt shrugs. “Yeah. But if you guys are having a good time, I can wait. If Jaskier allows, I could take a cab home. You guys should stay, have fun. I’ll just…rest.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Eskel tells him, nudging him with his shoulder. “If you want to get away, we’ll go with you.”

“Hm. But I _want_ you all to have a good time at the party.”

“But we won’t have a good time if _you’re_ not having a good time too.”

Geralt sighs. He doesn’t want to pull everyone out of the party just because _he_ feels like shit. That would just make him _even more_ like shit.

“How about this, I’ll go talk to Jaskier and Lambert, and hear what they wanna do?” Eskel suggests. “I’ll even stress it to them that you don’t want us all to leave just because of you. Yeah?”

“Just... I want you to have fun.”

Eskel smiles. He leans in against Geralt’s side. “It’s no fun if you’re not there.”

Geralt sips his drink.

“I’ll be right back, yeah?”

“Hm.”

In a blur of motion, Eskel disappears, though returns again within only some minutes. When he comes back, Jaskier and Lambert come with him.

“Hello, darling,” Jaskier says, her voice gentle. “How are you? Eskel mentioned you ran into Vesemir. Are you alright?”

The human gets to his feet. He brushes himself off and straightens his shirt. He shrugs.

“I’m even less in the mood to celebrate than I was before.”

“Aw, honey,” the doppler coos.

She pulls Geralt into her arms and hugs him tightly.

“That’s alright, love,” she says as she pets his back. “We can call it a night and go home.”

That makes Geralt pull away. “I don’t want you all to miss the fun ‘cause of me bein’ stupid,” he mutters.

Lambert tsks at him, slapping him on the shoulder. “Don’t be daft! We rather go home with ya than stay at this boring ass party without ya!”

To be honest, Lambert’s bluntness brings a meagre smile to Geralt’s face.

“He’s right, darling,” Jaskier agrees

“See? Told ya,” Eskel adds with a grin.

“Hm... Okay. If you’re sure?”

Jaskier smiles with hearts in her eyes.

*

When they get home, Geralt is both exhausted and filled with energy. He both wants to sleep for a week straight and get his brains fucked out.

But then they get into the bedroom, one of those things completely overwhelms the other. Sadly, it’s not the horniness.

He sits down on the bed and kicks off his shoes and throws his jacket aside. The others fuss around the room, doing whatever.

“How about it, love?”

He looks up. Jaskier has sat down next to him.

“D’you wanna save the fun stuff for tomorrow?”

Geralt lets out a breath. He shakes his head. “No. You all should-… If you wanna have fun, you should. I’ll go to my room. You should enjoy yourself. Reward the boys, and all.”

Jaskier hums, her hand coming to stroke Geralt’s back. Beyond her, Eskel and Lambert stand quietly, watching.

“It’ll be _more fun_ if you’re a part of it,” she tells him. “So my suggestion is this. Let’s just go to bed. Sleep it off. And tomorrow, we’ll take the whole day, if we like, to have our fun.”

“I think that’s a _great_ idea,” Lambert says with a grin. “Let’s take the night. Rest up. Get good and ready for our own party tomorrow.”

Geralt has to chuckle at that. Lambert’s always got the sunniest attitude.

“Yeah. I think that sounds alright,” Geralt admits.

Without much more fuss than that, the whole gang of them tucks into bed for a good night’s rest.

And honestly? It’s just what Geralt needs.

**Author's Note:**

> Theres gonna be a part 2 with jaskier rewarding his/her boys but i just need to find the motivation to write it, so be sure to drop kudos and comnents to re-motivate me lol <3


End file.
